What I Didn't Say
by Renfro Calhoun
Summary: While Jun is out, Shinku is agitated by a noisy computer, but her attempts to silence it reveal something she was not meant to see. Post season one, slight Jun/Shinku.


**What I Didn't Say**  
A Rozen Maiden fanfic by Renfro Calhoun

Disclaimer: Rozen Maiden is owned by Peach Pit and studio Nomad, unless I've been mislead at some point. The characters and ideas are used without permission, but with the utmost respect.

Notes: Follows the TV series, and is set sometime before episode four of the second season. Thoughts are indicated by italics, and they're all Shinku's. My first RM fanfic, and probably not my last, so by all means read, (hopefully) enjoy and critique to your heart's content. It's the only way I'll learn, after all!

* * *

"I am better because of you." 

Her tiny fingers recoiled from the alien device as if stung. She knew, without really understanding, that she had seen something she wasn't meant to, at least not yet.

Standing unsteadily on the desk chair, the petite blonde doll fixed her eyes on the flashing cursor, on the text imprinted on the digital document before her. The words, property of the boy whose room she shared; she'd seen and heard him late at night, typing in short bursts, whispering something to himself. This in itself was nothing unusual, from what she knew of Jun - and she had come to know quite a bit - but there was an intense cast to his eyes and face that suggested a task of importance. And so it was with the words before her, the start of a letter to the dolls, to his sister and his friend.

"Jun," whispered Shinku, her arms falling away from the desk to hang limply at her sides.

The dark-haired youth had gone out for the day, studying at the library. Shinku was familiar enough with the concept of school to know Jun had missed a lot of it, and so his regular excursions outside were not noteworthy. What was, however, was the fact that his strange machine, his 'computer' as he called it, had been making a lot of noise.

The fifth doll of the Rozen Maidens had ignored the rattling at first, but not for long. Her brow creased in annoyance, she had gently closed and set aside the weighty German tome she had been leafing through, climbed down off the bed, and trod over to the machine. Having seen Jun correct the problem with a gentle hit to the computer's frame, she drew her cane, mantled onto the desk chair and hastily rapped on the device. The rattling only grew worse, further agitating her, and she gave another, harder, strike, to no avail.

Confounded with the machine's apparent impudence, she had wound up for a third swing when the chair beneath her shifted, causing her to lose balance. In her haste to steady herself, she had lashed out with her free hand and pounded on the keyboard, unknowingly striking the 'enter' key.

Shinku was startled at first, even after righting her stance. The monitor, once black and lifeless, suddenly sprang into action, and for a moment the machine clicked and whirred as it processed some unknown request. The image on screen was entirely foreign to her, a strange background with numerous small icons, each accompanied by a name. One of those icons had suddenly turned a light shade of blue, and within seconds the picture had changed to the document she now saw.

She quickly, if awkwardly, learned how to scroll down, reading more of what could only be Jun's thoughts. Perhaps it had begun as a journal of a sort. Perhaps it was a means of coping with sudden and unexpected changes, such as the arrival of a cadre of enchanted dolls. And perhaps at some point Jun had simply felt the need to spill his thoughts onto electric paper, simple words abouts each and all, words he couldn't say aloud.

Words of anger, and then of thanks, and then so much more.

Though he was easily one of the most uncouth of her masters, Jun was not the first to be startled by or afraid of her; a doll like humans but not human, a doll that could walk, talk, think, fight, a doll that would eat and sleep, ask questions and tell answers. A doll built to play a game in search of perfection. Though the customs of the world changed drastically over time, Shinku knew that things such as magic, let alone magical dolls tasked with each other's destruction, would often be viewed with skepticism, ridicule or even fear.

The journal had begun darkly, with bitter complaints over the intruders in his otherwise isolated existence. Jun, who had withdrawn from school and life, did not welcome the dolls, the Rozen Maidens, into his home. The choice was all but forced on him, and this was clear enough in his writing. There was a hint of a time delay as Shinku read on, events written sequentially that happened weeks or months apart. Gradually it turned, revealing the side of Jun she had come to know; the side that couldn't bear to see someone or something suffering, the side that felt remorse for the trouble he had caused, the side that wanted very badly to be a normal boy again.

Shinku had seen that side when Hinaichigo, the precocious and selfish sixth doll, first came to stay at the household. Likewise when the twin dolls Suiseiseki and Souseiseki had come along, parted at first and reunited later. She had seen that side come to her aid in her fight against Suigintou, the tortured first doll who sought nothing more than her father's love and respect, at any and all costs.

With each press of the down-arrow key, Shinku felt something inside tighten uncomfortably: anxiety, the realization that she should not be reading this. A part of her thought, condescendingly, that something so personal would not be so easy to find; that her servant, her medium had once again shown his ineptitude at leaving this document in a place where it could easily be found.

The machine's rattling persisted, but it was another thought that drowned it out. It was the thought that this document was unfinished.

It only became obvious after several pages had gone by, as the journal steadily turned from a jumbled mess of half-thoughts to quieter, more orderly ponderings, to words that were positioned as if to become letters: To Nori, Jun; to Tomoe, Jun; to Hinaichigo, Suiseiseki and Souseiseki, and so on, with a large space between their names and his - spaces only partially filled.

Nori was first; the clumsy and absentminded yet kindly older sister who watched over her brother, who suffered his temper with patience that bordered on saintly. He then addressed Tomoe; the quiet and studious friend, the former master of Hinaichigo. Both girls had done much for him, he admitted, more than he felt he could ever properly thank them for, or so the document read. Shinku guessed that Jun had restrained himself in writing the specifics, loathe as he was to admit how far he had fallen.

"You cared for me, more than I could have deserved," read the last line to Nori. "You helped me adjust, to the dolls and to coming back," to Tomoe.

Hinaichigo was next. Jun recounted how, ironically, it was the most childish and selfish of the dolls that first truly helped him; how her sorrow at being separated from Tomoe eventually got to him. "I had to do something," he wrote. "I couldn't admit it then, but I couldn't stand to see you cry." Shinku had said little about this openly, but she knew that something special had happened. Jun had ventured outside for the first time in who knows how long, and for nothing more than a strawberry snack to help a lonely, crying girl feel more welcome.

"You got me to care again." Shinku could almost hear him say that, even though he rarely said such things.

Then Suiseiseki. Theirs was a strange relationship, with the shy, yet mischievous doll's initial disdain for people in general, and Jun in particular. She teased Hinaichigo and argued ceaselessly with Jun, pridefully reluctant to form a contract even in the face of danger. Through it all, her love for her fellow dolls shone through, especially for her twin sister. He wrote in admiration of her desire to avoid the Alice Game altogether, preferring not to fight the others.

"You showed me the strength to fight, and to not fight."

And then Souseiseki. Shinku had little trouble admitting that she was one of the more mature and formidable Rozen Maidens, though the fifth doll scoffed in mild irritation when Jun referred to Souseiseki as "the level-headed one." Shinku relaxed as she read on; Jun admitted in print that he knew less about the fourth doll than he did the rest, and yet he admired her conviction and composure. In helping the twin gardeners, he saw Souseiseki's devotion and concern for her sister, for the elderly watchmaker with whom she stayed, and for their enigmatic Father.

"You showed me what it means to believe."

Shinku was quite eager, along with a few other, darker, emotions, to read what he wrote to her. And so for a moment she was irritated again at the single line of text between her name and his, having expected at least as much as the other girls. However, the hostility vanished as she took in the words and what they meant.

"You gave worth to someone who believed he had none. I am better because of you."

Shinku looked down, away from the screen. "Jun," she said softly once more, the edge of her bonnet hiding the text from her.

It was true enough that the dolls' problems, and the Alice Game itself, were complicated because of Jun; because he had shut himself in, believed himself weak and hid away from the world. It was equally true that Shinku had yet to meet a less cooperative, more stubborn servant.

The fifth doll slowly sat down, carefully arranging the folds of her dress. _And yet,_ she thought, _would things be as they are, had someone else turned the key?_

She wondered if Hinaichigo would ever have felt at home, ever stopped feeling lonely, if both Jun and Nori were away during the day. She briefly pondered if someone else would have helped or hindered Suiseiseki, if she would have grown less or more trusting of humans. And from there, whether they could have helped Souseiseki, or the watchmaker and his wife.

The doll entertained darker thoughts, possibilities every step of the way: how long would another master take to wind her back to life; how well could another master protect her, and fight with her. And then she came to one in particular, one that caused her to emit a faint, almost inaudible gasp.

_Could another have..._ she looked down at her right arm, at the joint where it had been severed; at the arm that would not be there, if not for Jun.

The memories rudely forced their way back into her mind: her piercing cry of pain as Suigintou brutally ripped her arm from its socket; the stinging of tears as Jun hastily carried her to safety; the eerie sensation of 'feeling' her missing arm, as she tried and failed to button a loose cuff with her remaining hand. _Worthless... dead... junk. _ The words were hers at the time, the only words that came close to how she felt. The very thought of losing her soul - her rosa mystica, that which made her more than a lifeless, broken doll - was more than enough to send a shiver through her tiny frame, even now.

Something pierced the darkness. More memories, brighter ones, happier ones. Jun had drawn strength from her and the other dolls, from Nori and Tomoe; from helping and being helped. That strength saved them all, allowing him to repel Suigintou, and to find and restore Shinku's arm. That strength was returned tenfold to Shinku, who battled and decisively bested her silver-haired sister.

_That strength... is why we are all here. _ Shinku looked at her arm again, sighing softly. _Could another have healed me? Would another have his skill, his touch, his compassion?_

With someone else around, her pride might have answered for her, though she knew it would be a lie. Nevertheless, she felt compelled to close the document, and to hide the fact that she had read it. Again she felt uncomfortable, felt as an intruder into someone's thoughts. She had little qualms over helping herself to his possessions, but his thoughts were another matter.

"Honestly," she said to herself, standing back up on the chair, "what a troublesome servant."

Anxiety became annoyance as she tried, futilely, to remove the journal from the screen. The chair creaked and swayed a bit as she hesitantly probed the keyboard; the noise would have further agitated her, but that was the last thing on her mind now. She tested number keys, letter keys, escape and enter, and felt her face pale a bit as the letter was deformed and altered accordingly. Her gestures quickened, the first signs of panic in her awkward movements as the machine defied her. She grit her teeth and was tempted to simply destroy the device, but knew that would only make things worse.

"H-how... what do I do here?" she stammered, visibly flustered.

The sound of a door opening and closing didn't help. The voice from the hall downstairs was muffled, but definitely male. Its speaker was helpfully identified by a cheery "Welcome back, Jun!" by Hinaichigo, her high-pitched greeting clearly audible right down to the superfluous 'na no' at the end.

She exhaled sharply, throwing a nervous glance at the door. _Oh no! I have to close it, I have to..._

Shinku's hand bumped into a small, cabled device next to the keyboard, and a tiny light came on upstairs as she saw an on-screen arrow move identically.

_Yes, that's right! He used this all the time, I could hear it clicking... the buttons, yes!_ She frantically searched her memories, trying to recall what she had seen him do with it. _It would click, and then the picture changed. This must be it._

Footsteps on the stairs startled her and sped her up. _There must be something I'm supposed to point at. Where is it? Where is it??_

The chair shifted again and she wobbled forward, bracing herself with her free hand on the desk. She accidentally pushed the mouse up and right, and the arrow drifted to the corresponding corner. It was there she saw a small red 'x', and after a second a white box popped up next to the arrow with the word 'close' on it.

More footsteps, closer and louder. Shinku didn't think twice. She pressed the mouse button and turned to jump off the chair when another menu popped up. At this she let out a small noise of frustration and, in a panic, pounded her hand flat on the keyboard.

Miraculously, the document finally vanished. The doll hastily hopped off the chair and all but ran back to the bed, where she climbed up and retrieved her book. Just as she flipped it open to where she had left the bookmark, the knob turned and the door was pushed open.

"I'm home."

Shinku looked up from her book, acknowledging the thin, raven-haired boy as he entered the room. "Welcome back," she said softly, trying to mask her lingering nervousness. Her voice caught in her throat when he looked questioningly at the screen, and she immediately feared he knew, somehow, that it had been used.

Jun gave a vaguely curious grunt and started over to the desk. He set his bookbag down and gave the computer a gentle rap with his hand, silencing the loud whirring that Shinku had long forgotten about. "This thing is always so noisy," he mumbled to himself.

The doll released a hidden sigh of relief, and buried her face behind the book. _Yes, it is,_ she thought with a faint smile. _In many ways._

* * *

"Good night, na no!" 

Hinaichigo's case clicked shut as Jun and Shinku bid her good night, leaving the two by themselves. Shinku, still staring into her book, hadn't so much as turned a page since Jun had returned earlier; her mind poring over what she had read, during dinner and during commercial breaks for Detective Kun-Kun - though not during the puppet show itself. Nobody had seemed to notice her sudden bout of reticence, perhaps believing it wasn't that out of the ordinary for her. She was grateful for this, though not entirely.

_"I'm better because of you." _ Again it was his voice in her thoughts; tired, reluctant, regretful, but unmistakably him. After barely concealing that she'd read the digital journal, Shinku once again found herself divided. She wished that she hadn't messed with the computer, and yet was strangely glad she had. She wanted to forget, but couldn't even try. She blamed the machine, Jun, herself, then Jun once more, and then blamed nobody at all. She fought to keep her posture and poise, struggled to give nothing away, and still wished to know what else he would say.

She also wished she could give voice to her own thoughts, to tell him things she'd like him to know. Things a little more important than lectures on how to properly brew tea, or the numerous other instructions she had given him.

Shinku heard the keys as he deftly typed away. She poked her head up from the book and watched, fascinated. She thought of his talents, few but wonderful; thought of his strengths, also few but powerful as many. His skilled fingers, it seemed, could do far more than wield a needle and thread.

His skilled fingers, it seemed, could say what he could not. _What are you writing, Jun?_ she silently pondered.

"What is it?" he asked out of the blue.

Shinku blinked in confusion, unaware she had been noticed. She caught sight of his eyes, his face half-turned towards her, and fumbled briefly for an answer. "N-nothing..." she trailed off, unconvincingly. She didn't believe for a minute that he'd buy it.

He didn't. Jun turned more directly towards the doll, his rich brown eyes peering questioningly at her from behind his glasses. "I'm just typing. Is it too loud?"

"No, it's not that," she replied. With no other excuse at the ready, she reluctantly went with the truth. "I was wondering what it is you are doing."

"I'm finishing up a paper for my homework," said Jun matter-of-factly. "It's not that interesting."

Shinku didn't say anything immediately, though a little more truth bubbled up into her mind, expressing itself as she set aside her book. "It is interesting," she said quietly. "I would like to watch."

Jun looked even more confused, his voice more than a little incredulous. "Huh? Watch me do homework?"

The tiny doll climbed off the bed and gracefully stepped over to the computer, next to Jun. She craned her neck back, searching for his eyes, and summoned a small smile. "This 'typing'... you write the things you cannot say, right?"

The boy gave a slight nod, still puzzled. He'd grown used to odd inquiries from his diminutive guest, though they still occasionally caught him off guard. "S-something like that," he said, her smile not escaping his notice.

_His fingers tell much... more than the words they write._ Her smile grew, just barely. _It is its own form of magic._

"Shinku?"

"Jun," she began, saying his name in that faintly musical way of hers. She let it hang in the air, briefly but noticeably, and then asked, "Would you pick me up?"

He grew quiet, and the doll thought she saw a bit of a blush as he bent down and gingerly lifted her off the floor. A smile of his own crossed his lips as he set her gently in his lap, and then placed his hands back on the keyboard.

Shinku watched intently as Jun resumed typing, and she leaned comfortably back against him. Jun seemed unhindered, and perhaps even emboldened, by Shinku's presence. The words he typed were meaningless to her, tidbits about the history of distant lands, but the speed and skill at which his fingers danced kept the doll's complete attention. He typed without rhythm or pause, a deft, chaotic assortment of steps to a handful of plastic notes.

_'I'm better because of you."_

She smiled happily, imagining how he would finish the letter. _As are we, Jun. Someday... let us share these words._


End file.
